Avenues intersected
the great blocks of ripening amber cane. In the distance down one
of these he espied some slaves at work. Nuttall entered the avenue
and advanced upon them. They eyed him dully, as he passed them.
Pitt was not of their number, and he dared not ask for him. He
continued his search for best part of an hour, up one of those
lanes and then down another. Once an overseer challenged him,
demanding to know his business. He was looking, he said, for Dr.
Blood. His cousin was taken ill. The overseer bade him go to the
devil, and get out of the plantation. Blood was not there. If he
was anywhere he would be in his hut in the stockade.
Nuttall passed on, upon the understanding that he would go. But
he went in the wrong direction; he went on towards the side of the
plantation farthest from the stockade, towards the dense woods that
fringed it there. The overseer was too contemptuous and perhaps
too languid in the stifling heat of approaching noontide to correct
his course.
Nuttall blundered to the end of the avenue, and round the corner of
it, and there ran into Pitt, alone, toiling with a wooden spade upon
an irrigation channel.
Pages:
123
124
125
126
127
128
129
130
131
132
133
134
135
136
137
138
139
140
141
142
143
144
145
146
147